


Clogged

by DamiaLuz



Series: Overwatch [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: (ಥ﹏ಥ), Angst, Anxiety, Blood Drinking, Borderline Smut, Creepy Reader, Depression, Dirty Thoughts, Emotionless, Explicit Language, F/F, Gore, Helpless, Hurt/Comfort, Masochist, NSFW, OC, Sad Reader, Suicidal Thoughts, evil reader, first work on ao3 be gentle, sadist, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-20 04:30:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14253072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DamiaLuz/pseuds/DamiaLuz
Summary: You wanted out. Out of this shit hole and out of the little cage you're trapped in. That little cage that is your mind keeps you locked in like a flightless bird. You pulled your shackles and tugged the bars hard, but the tough material kept you in its grasp. You could see the light at the end of the tunnel, but something kept covering your eyes, making you wonder if it really was there. To be honest, you weren't sure if you ever wanted to go to the light. The darkness was familiar and you knew what it did to you, even if it hurt you tremendously. The light was unfamiliar and new, you didn't know what it could do to you. Would it hurt you even more? Would it lash out and take the last chunks of your heart? Would it mangle your broken body? Could you take it?No, the answer was no, so you came to a conclusion. Your options were to either end it all entirely or accept the weird vaccine – you were pretty sure it was drugs – a mysterious masked man had offered you. He'd claimed it'd ease all your worries, take away the pain. Perhaps giving it a try wouldn't hurt?





	1. hush

**Author's Note:**

> Finally coming back to this, sorry y'all

You stared at the writhing man before you. He choked on his own vomit, gasping for air, not knowing it was the oxygen in the air making him choke. His blood dripped from your lips as you inspected his twitching body. His blood had the same taste, metallic. O positive always tasted a bit… Tart, you could say, like an overly sour apple. You licked away the red of the blood and slowly approached the still twitching man.  
Crouching down, you inspected the damage. He looked like he had a seizure, not too uncommon for an old smoking man, and the pill should already have dissolved. No evidence left. You fled from the scene and onto the roof. The wind whispered lightly there, the night was quiet. You could hear distant chatter from the town below, but other than that, there was no disturbance.  
What would your organs look like splattered on the sidewalk, what about the citizens’ faces, what level of horror could show on their faces? Would it feel like anything? Probably not, since you had lost that privilege some time ago.  
Still, you liked to imagine.

You stood on the ledge of the building, contemplating whether or not should you step out. Why wouldn’t you? When you fished for approval all you got was rejection, when you wanted help you were pushed away with unbelieving shoves, when you greedily seeked redemption you got punishment. There was nothing there. All you had was a shell. A shell of a once human body, one that could’ve been saved.  
You remembered your apartment. When you moved in, you saw a new start, a new life and a second chance at happiness. And you had been happy for the first few months. When you got the job with a good pay, you’d felt as if nothing could go wrong. And nothing did, it was just your mind being a bastard.  
Everything had been well. Nothing was wrong and you had no reason to fuss. So why did you feel like that? It was so stupid, why couldn’t you just see what’s right in front of you? Everything was fine, don’t fuss. You had felt so guilty for feeling like that. Like it was your fault. You couldn’t control it. When you inserted the vaccine into your arm, you expected control. No more guilt over nothing and no more worthlessness.  
You hadn’t expected it all to disappear.

You couldn’t even feel angry. No betrayal, no nothing. It was all so hollow and… Cold. It was all so cold.

“Hey, love, what’s got you down?” You heard a quirky voice behind you. She was British. You looked over your shoulder and found the girl a few feet away from you. She had a smile on her face, but you could see concern in her eyes.

“Loss.” You said simply. Technically, you weren’t lying.

“Hmm?” She sat on the ledge, next to your feet. “Who’d you lose?” Why did she care?

“Leave me alone. I have things to do.” 

“Well, my job is saving people, so I can’t.” She smiled brightly.

“I am not a person.” You turned away and walked along the ledge, towards the corner.

“Well, I think you’re a person. I mean, you’re obviously a human being.”

“Debatable.” She muffled her giggle with a fake cough. “Go home, I don’t need help… Anymore, I don’t.” You whispered the latter sentence.

“Nah, I reckon I’ll stay here.” By this point, you probably would be annoyed. But, you weren’t. You studied the woman – she looked like a girl, but her eyes said otherwise – with an unwavering gaze. She had short spiky hair, looked kinda like one of those anime hairstyles, she had goggles and an odd device on her chest. Looks pretty important.  
You stopped on the corner and looked down. There was no people on the alley. The concrete was cracked there and graffiti stained the walls. You could smell the trash from there. You would blend in with all the trash and the alley looked scary enough, you wouldn’t be found too quickly. So you took a step forward. You felt the wind blow under you and to be honest, you were pumped with adrenaline. If you survived, you’d definitely do this again.  
The wind suddenly rushed from under you and from your lungs. The collar of your hoodie choked you as you hung from the hood of it. Your scarred stomach was exposed as you hung limply in the air.

“No need to panic, love, I’ve got you.” Please don’t get me. Let go. You wanted to yell at her, you wanted to cry for her to let you go and leave for good. But, you couldn’t find it in yourself to do it.  
As she hauled you up, you felt the bricks scrape your back. All you felt nowadays was physical pain and even that was minimal. You tried to press against the rough surface, but the fabric of your clothes was too thick and the curve of your spine prevented you from scraping the exposed skin, at least to the point of feeling it. You still managed to rub your wrists onto the wall though. The sting was refreshing.  
When you were back on the roof, you could hear the woman panting. She had a thin sheet of sweat covering her face, now you could see her whole face better, since she had pushed her hair back with her goggles. She had an easy to look at face, very easy to look at, indeed.

“Whew, that was close, ey?”

“You’re a horrible person.” You had come to a conclusion. She was totally and seriously a horrendous person.

“Whatever you mean, love?” She looked at you with an utterly confused face.

“To prevent a murderer from killing themselves is kind of unusual for a person who saves lives for a living, isn’t it?” You could see alarm flashing in her eyes and her carefree smile dropped from her lips.

“I bet you think the dried blood on my chin is my own.” You wanted to laugh at how pale she went, but you merely felt your mouth twitch. You got up and started to walk away. You opened the door to the staircase, but glanced back one last time. Your empty eyes met tear filled ones, that were suddenly right in front of your nose.  
Just as she was about to open her mouth, you lifted up your finger and pressed it onto your chapped lips.

“Hush.” You whispered. You closed the door softly, not expecting to see this girl ever, again.


	2. the dragon man, the brit and the old middle eastern woman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiiii, trigger warning; drinking blood. yay.

You laid on the floor of your flat, motionless, just staring at the ceiling. You couldn’t even feel bored. The police has started to suspect that the sudden wave of seizures in the same apartment building wasn’t a coincidence. After through inspections of the structure, they had started to inspect the bodies and had found deep bite marks on their necks. Your mouth twitched. Maybe you could die in prison.  
They knew it was you, they just had to knock on your door. You closed your eyes and waited. If this was your old self, your heart would be pounding away and panic would clog your brain. You’d feel immense pressure and roll on the floor with tears rolling down your face at a rapid pace. You remember what it was like to choke on your own breath, you were thankful on some level that you didn’t need to experience that anymore, but you also remembered the pleasurable breaths of air after the attack.

After you ruined your body, your senses had dimmed a bit. You could still hear and see quite well, but you had a hard time feeling anything in the tip of your fingers. Also, your sense of taste was almost completely gone, hence why you drank blood. After cutting one last time, you had discovered that your own blood tasted a bit like saltened kiwis. You also noticed that your irises had gotten a red tint. The more blood you drank, the redder they became. Your hair had started bleaching, too. The usual black had faded into a dirty gray.  
Finally, you heard the door open. It didn’t slam open like you expected and there was no aggressive shouting heard, only the soft tap of a single pair of shoes. They stopped.

“Clear.” Oh, the cheery Brit girl. She didn’t sound so cheery now. After hearing the word, other people started crowding in. You could count two other pairs of feet walking into your flat. One had a very sure stride, but the other didn’t seem as sure, but had a very light foot. You turned your head towards the door, eyes only halfway open.  
The door wasn’t locked. They stopped in front of it.

“She’s in here, for sure.” The Brit sounded glum. Someone tested if the door was unlocked and sure enough, it opened without trouble. You could hear a sharp intake of breath. As the door slid open slowly, you closed your eyes. Your muscles relaxed and you exhaled a breath of finalization. The bloodied floor was getting cold and dry, your arms were painted red and your shirt was more like a rag. Your neck ached with all the cuts, still seeping the maroon liquid. Your blood had darkened, too.

“That’s her?” Another voice, she sounded old. She also had an accent, middle Eastern, you observed.

“Y-yeah.” The Brit’s voice was shaky. You wonder why. Your ears twitched when you heard the third person step closer to your unmoving body. Now you could hear their breathing. It reminded you of an old movie, you couldn’t place what movie it was, but you remembered that the antagonist had heavy breathing and was the protagonist’s father, if you remembered correctly, it was then a futuristic space movie. Something in relation to a war in the galaxy. You remembered being starstruck – puns – when watching it.  
Did the man just nudge you? With his foot? You should’ve felt annoyed or offended, but it was all empty. You opened your eyes slowly. Oh, so he was a cyborg. You studied him for a bit, before tilting your head to the side. Something weird was circling him, something green.

“Dragon man.” Those simple words seemed to surprise him beyond anything. Your voice was raspy, all the blood you drank had a weird effect on your throat. It felt clogged and thick. Maybe the blood was stuck as goo in your throat. Like jelly. Or it could be the – still bleeding – cuts on your neck.

“Laura Carter, you’re coming with us.” The dragon man and the old middle eastern woman hauled you onto your feet. You felt a bit dizzy, but other than that, you were fine. Before the Brit had pulled out the handcuffs, you were out of the room. You didn’t know what came over you, but you just went with it. The cuts were deep and started bleeding again, but you didn’t pay them any mind, since the sudden thirst for blood had overridden everything you had in your mind. The first weeks after taking the vaccine, you had settled to stealing blood bags from a local hospital, but when you had managed to get blood straight from the vein, the bags had seemed like expired, moldy, white bread.  
Right now, though, you had no access to the luxurious type, so you had to settle for the lesser kind. By the time you heard them react, you had already ripped the bag open. You suckled on the opened hole. You had no idea where the sudden need for blood came from, but you suspected it was from the dragon man. You saw green mist surrounding him, at first it didn’t look like anything, but the more you looked at it the more you made out of it. You saw its scrunched up muzzle and glowing eyes. You saw the way it curled around it’s master, it clearly didn’t like you. It had even lashed out at you, hence why you ran from the room. The dragon hadn’t done any physical harm, but you felt a strange, uncomfortable pressure where it had struck you.  
Some blood trickled down your chin and onto your already stained pants. But, you couldn’t focus on anything else than the red liquid pouring down your throat. It was the only thing that had color. When the metallic taste tickled your tastebuds, you could see colors erupt before you, you saw everything in new light. You selfishly wanted back the color that was cheated out of your hands, even if it meant taking it from other people.  
Something pulled you under your armpits. You wanted to scream at them for making the blood spill, but your mind wouldn’t allow you to open your mouth.

“What are you doing?!” Lena screamed at you. You stared up at her.

“I was thirsty.” Came a simple reply.

“And you were aware that what you were drinking was blood.” The old woman asked, seeming a quite disturbed. You couldn’t blame her.

“AB positive.” You confirmed, looking at the woman, straight in the eye. She looked away quite quickly, something that looked like realization flashing in her eyes. You saw her whisper something in the Brit ear, but with your weakened hearing you could pick it up. The cyborg seemed to catch it, though, since he stiffened when he heard them. You heard the Brit’s response, though. A name of sorts, you were sure. 

“Widowmaker.” For some reason, she seemed horrified, terrified and petrified.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seriously like you ༼ つ ◕_◕ ༽つ


	3. pretty doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After your capture, drama ensues in the interrogating room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ily

Right this moment, you were tied to a dentist’s chair with a leather belt silencing you, the belt felt a bit like A negative, with its leathery and rough quality. You remember being struck by the dragon man. He had jabbed your neck deliciously hard. You had almost smiled.

The ceiling had small little holes in them, most likely for air conditioning. You had counted 1343 and you weren’t even halfway through. That’s a lot of holes. You probably should’ve felt bored, but the plain insanity of boredom didn’t seem to catch up with you anymore. Nor did curiosity, since the mention of the name – Widowmaker – hadn’t set off any alarms. Maybe she was a business woman of sorts? Maybe a hardcore dominatrix? Maybe she was the purple woman that had been stalking you? You remembered seeing her on your balcony a few nights back, just looking at you, something that looked like depression and glee all rolled into one shining in her eyes. She had strange, golden amber eyes.  
You heard the door open, but since there was another leather belt around your neck, you couldn’t see them. They were alone. They had heavy, careful footsteps. They were tall. 

“This is an interrogation.” They had a feminine voice, she also had a middle Eastern accent, her voice was sharp and cut through the suffocating air of the small room. You liked her honey like voice.  
“You have sucked almost all of the blood from the residents of Greenwill 3st., before poisoning them. Why and how?” Her tone was neutral, but you could hear the hidden malice in there. You just eyed her for a while, blankly and almost borededly. When she let out an impatient humm, you said muffledly:  
“I can’t speak.” She seemed momentarily flustered. She was a real cutie. When the belt left your mouth, you licked your lips slowly, staring at the seemingly Arabic woman. After a while – half a minute, or so – you finally spoke.

“You smell like an A positive.” You paused, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. “Peaches and honey. So sweet… But, so dangerous.” You spoke dryly, no emotion lacing your voice, no false happiness and no sarcasm.  
“How? You ask how? Haven’t already taken my blood? You should know how.” You kept your eyes closed.  
“Tell me.” She demanded, her eyes hard, the malice not so carefully hidden anymore.

“The vaccine had some strange side effects. I spilled out my guts, along with my emotions.” You opened your eyes, staring at the ceiling once more.

“My blood is black, a bit salty. It bubbles and burns the floor. It’s in my spit, too.” You spoke slowly, almost tiredly. You really wanted to sleep. Forever.

“Why do you drink blood?” Her tone was still harsh, she was probably prissy over the peaches’n’honey comment.

“I mentioned I threw up my emotions, the feeling in my finger tips, the ability to hear past 1o,000Hz, the privilege to feel pain when you fall… The ability to taste anything aside from the metallic red liquid, that just so happens to keep humans alive.” That had her mouth agape. You felt your mouth twitch slightly, but you still didn’t feel it. You didn’t answer the rest of her questions.  
You had now counted 5966 little holes. This was the one directly in front of you. The last one, since there was some kind of tape covering the rest of the holes on that row and the belt around your neck prevented you from counting any further. The belt was awfully tight, but not coarse enough to inflict enough pain for you to feel it, so you only felt a constant nag of the material rubbing you.  
You turned to look at the woman. She seemed to have calmed down, but had the same hard look on her face.

“For the fifth time, how many people did you kill?” She spoke calmly. The comm in her ear must tell her what to ask you.

“15.6 gallons.” She was deadly quiet. She didn’t even breath, for that brief moment.

“THAT’S 12 PEOPLE!” She suddenly grabbed your shoulders and shook you violently. Even you could hear the people in her comm shouting at her. You could practically feel the rapid beating of her heart and it prompted you to let out a pleased hum, somehow resembling a purr. Before she even had the chance to jump away, you had already licked her neck with your very venomous tongue. Your tongue had gotten longer and had darkened in color. It was as red as your, once healthy, blood.  
She shrieked in pain, jumping away from you. You looked at her with no expression, but the way she looked absolutely horrified left a spark in your eye. Soon after her departure, others burst into the room. You recognized the Dragon man, he was now holding a katana on your throat. The older – most likely, also Arab – woman burst into the room with a blonde female doctor and judging by the tattoos under their eyes, they seemed to be related. The blonde doctor rushed to you, medical gloves covering her delicate fingers. She pried your jaws open, forcing her hand down your throat and feeling your tongue. The sting of the katana breaking your skin felt exotic, you liked it, but when a soft whine broke from you, the doctor halted in her actions immediately. Her face remained neutral, but her ears had seemed to take on a red color. She smelled like… That’s a foreign smell. It had hints of the raspberry hidden in B negative, but there was something buzzing in her veins. Something that smelled, like, like… Mint Meringue. Your favorite. 

A weird giggle left you when you felt drool slip from your lips. Everything was slow motion, the sounds were blurred, all you could think about was the smell, the taste, you wanted it in your mouth. You tried to lick at the blonde’s hands. She seemed weirded out – understandable – but in the hazy state of mind, you could only whimper and whine for the sweet essence that ran through her body. Oh, if it felt this good still in her skin, how would it feel in your mouth.  
It felt weird smiling genuinely. You had forgotten the bubbling emotion of laughter and the sheer happiness of feeling it got tears streaming down your face. Despite the hectic air around you, you could finally feel it. You could feel the tense atmosphere, you could feel the desperation for the liquid, you could feel the anger and the sadness crawling from the back your mind. You whined and purred, but you didn’t care what you sounded like. You needed this.  
When the doctor finally woke from her stupor, she inspected your mouth, you weren’t sure why, but you let her continue, since one of her arteries was in front of your face. You could hear the beating of her heart and it made you dizzy. Your knees shook at the sensory overload, but it all felt so good.

“Ish jusht a minol buln.” You mumbled, a sleepy smile forming in between your mumbles. You smiled even harder when the katana was pressed harder against your neck, but something was nagging at you. It felt like something was digging it’s way out of your brain, but it’s sharp little teeth could only scratch the skin. Slowly, but surely, the pain of it grew way past the point of enjoyment – now that you could feel, the pain factor had increased back to normal – and the purrs turned to small whimpers.

The old Arabic woman was no longer inspecting the damage you’d made, she watched you writhe in both pleasure and pain. The damage had been nothing bad, just blisters that could be easily iced. She watched as a hazy smile appeared on your face, she could see you frantically sniffing the air, she saw you purr at the pain in your neck and she could see the heavy tears running down your face. She saw the conflicting emotions clogging up your brain, to the point of it all just blurring into one big blob of emotion. She hated that you had killed so many and she hated that you had harmed her daughter, of all people, but she couldn’t help feeling sorry for you. She felt guilty for letting you break like this, like what you had went through before your corruption. She had read your long list of failed attempts of taking your life, countless pills of antidepressants and an endless sea of despair. She had read your therapist’s notes about you, she had read them with tears in her eyes and a heavy heart weighing her down.

“Get Fareeha ice, I’ll file the report later, Genji get the belt on her mouth again.” The blonde also had an accent, though it was German. Or Swiss. The language sounded good on her, but you couldn’t hear the other’s responses. There was constant ringing in your head, something was trying to get out of your head, something sharp and determined. It bit at your mind, pulling big chunks of sanity with it. It felt like the old times. You tried to cry for the blonde to keep talking, her voice drowned out the whining and screeching of the creature, but before that, the dragon man – Genji – had the belt around your mouth. You trashed against it, your screams coming out muffled and broken. Please stay. Help me. Don’t leave me, please. Just this once, look at me, don’t leave. You wanted to yell, but all that left you were broken screams and cries, small whimpers and high pitched whines.

Your eyes began to blur as the the nagging creature finally got out and clouded you mind with the same familiar numbness.  
The pain stopped, the relief vanished, the smile dropped. Nothing, absolutely nothing. The tears dried on your cheeks and the cries for the pretty doctor decapitated from your hoarse throat. With one last defeated whimper, you closed your eyes, exhaustion taking over your body.

“We’ll keep her here.” Angela would make sure of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's 1AM fucking kill me


	4. bloody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things get bloody ;P

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning: gore i guess :))))))))

Gone. Again, it was gone. You remembered how it felt to feel again, but it was ripped from your hands as soon as you got it. You tried to fight it, but with feelings came with pain and the pain was just too much. Ironic, really, since now you enjoy the pain. You’d laugh, but…

You were still trapped on the dentist’s chair, the leather belts rubbing your skin the wrong way. The tears had dried on your face, your throat hurt from all the screaming and you could still feel the small scraps of the pleasantness hanging in the air, just out of your reach.  
How long would they keep you on the chair? You didn’t know and even if you could care, trashing against the bounds would be useless. The only option was to wait. Wait. And wait.  
You waited and waited. Still waiting. You counted the hours since the Fareeha fiasco, so far it had been exactly 432 000 seconds, equivalent to four hours and thirty minutes. 432 001… 432 002… 432 003… 432 004… By the time you had gotten to 433 600, your stomach had started to grumble. Your appetite had gotten duller, since all the real food you ate tasted like cardboard. That Fareeha had been a real snacc. A whole meal, even. Thinking of her soft supple skin made you all kinds of excited, but in your near starved state, all you could think about was blood and blood only.  
The doctor had really good cells in her. Now that the pleasurable fog had cleared from your mind, you could really asses the effect she had on you. She clearly had something more than just blood running through her. Something thicker, sweeter… Dammit, you’re getting distracted. Again.

As the seconds went by, the twisting of your stomach became harsher and more demanding. You needed blood, sweet tasting and warm, straight from the vein. 

“Food.” You whispered hoarsely, sweat pouring down your forehead like heavy pearls. You could see something flicker in the mirror on the wall to your right, but thought nothing of it. But as you looked at the mirror, you discovered that of you looked hard enough, you could detect movement from behind it. You could decipher who they were or what sex they were, but there was definitely a variety of them. A small figure was closer to the mirror than the others and as you tried to get a whiff of them – keyword; tried – you see the figure scramble away from the mirror. Fareeha or the pretty doctor?

Despite being dead on the inside, you had made more discoveries during this time than you had during your semi healthy life. Those discoveries include; 

1\. Different blood types taste different.  
2\. Your spit is corrosive.  
3\. You don’t sweat unless you’re hungry.  
4\. The more blood you consume, the longer you can go without it.  
5\. No matter how much blood you consume, you always feel drawn to drink it.  
6\. Hard working humans have better quality blood than lazy oafs.  
7\. Smoking doesn’t affect your blood’s taste, too much, it’s like adding BBQ sauce.  
8\. Your hands don’t shake anymore.  
9\. Your skin is pale, but insanely smooth and supple now.  
10\. Vinegar tastes like cider.

Nothing too big, but still it should be fascinating enough. You had discovered – really overusing that word now – many things while trying to gain feeling back into your system. Video games proved to be too easy, juggling had turned out to be like child’s play, coding was like stealing candy from a toddler, chemistry and physics were still boring, but you could now understand every single formula. It seemed that your body had stopped feeling things, but your brain activity had spiked noticeably. Aside from your limbic system. Probably why some of your memories are a bit out of reach.  
Speaking of your spit. The more you moisten the belt in your mouth, the quicker it seems to rot away. Corrosive, huh.

The belt flopped to the sides of you head, slick with salvia and black with burns. Now you just had to figure out the one binding your neck. Your blood had the same effect right? This was going to hurt.  
You closed your eyes and prepared for the stinging pain. With a strong yank, you ripped the skin of your wrist, the pain wasn't too bad, you expected more, considering a whole chunk of skin was ripped from you. Black liquid squirted out and flowed onto the belt, burning the material to the crisp. Seemed like your blood had a stronger effect. You could see your artery turn darker near the gash, ruined blood bubbling out. Just because the dangerous liquid ran through you, didn’t mean you were immune to its effects, you noted. Your skin swelled with disgustingly purple blisters, dots that resembled necrosis painted the skin of your palm, the gash pulsed with the beat of your heart, the blood bubbled like it was boiling and as you moved your hand to your throat, you could finally feel it. Pain. So much pain. It blinded you for a second and all you could see was your mangled hand. It made bile rise to your throat. You saw your fingers twitch unnaturally and shake uncontrollably. Strange.  
You sat up with blood still blooming from your wrist and staining the – already filthy – clothes you had. The liquid had rotten away at your clothes and the old turtle neck now resembled a trashy V-neck. Your denim pants had crisp holes and the skin of your legs was blistered. Your throat was sticky with it and had soaked through skin, making more blood seep out.  
Suckling on the gash on your wrist, your hunger lessened for a bit, but it wasn’t your blood you wanted. You wanted sweet and warm blood, not boiling hot, salty mudwater. 

“Food… Blood…” Your groans sounded like a zombie’s, though, that’s what you felt like, also. You stood up with shaky legs, getting used to moving after so many hours. You walked towards the mirror wall, staggering slightly, but still making it there with no other difficulties. You raised your hands up to the mirror, looking for the figures again. It took a longer time this time. But, you still found it. There was multiple huddled far away, but there was one. Right. In. Front. Of. You.  
You wanted to smile. You really did, despite the awful situation, you wanted to smile, because now, you could smell her. The pretty doctor. Despite not feeling anything, you pulled your lips up to a something relatively close to a smile. The figure stepped back. You tilted your head. There was thick glass between you and her, why was she…  
The answer was staring at you right in the eye. The mirror was glitching. It seemed your bloody hands had an effect on their technology. Before it completely malfunctioned, static appeared, god it felt awful to your ears. You didn’t need to worry about that for long, since the next thing you saw was truly mesmerizing. The pretty doctor was staring at you with wide eyes, clearly displaying fear. She looked like a deer in the headlights. She was shaking visibly and you could smell the terror wafting from the huddled bunch. They seemed to be struggling with the door.  
Dragon man was trying to pick the lock with his sword, Fareeha was kicking the door, the old woman was eyeing the vent and someone you hadn’t seen before was pointing a revolver at your forehead through the glass. He had a hard face. Was that a cowboy hat?  
With a languid lick on the glass, you spoke slowly. Letting the words sink in, you eyed the man. He had only one real arm.

“Blood.” You rested your wet forehead on the glass and slid your hands down, still keeping them on the glass just a bit further down. Your long tongue hung from your lips, burning the sensitive skin. You felt the pain, but there was no alarm or panic pumping through you, so it was all pointless. Your wrist was dripping, but most of the blood had dried and cooled down. Your blood had a strange tendency to patch over your wounds and dry there. Even if your blood was a foot away from you, it’d slither back to its source. 

Just a moment after hearing the word echo in the small control room, they all sprung to action. Genji finally got the lock open – the malfunction had caused the building to lock down – and burst out after telling them that he was going to get the blood. Fareeha walked out quickly, still pressing the ice pack to her neck. Ana stayed for protection and Jesse was wary. Angela felt the immense fear press on her back, but despite it, she opened a small section of the glass. The bottom right corner popped open and a hole the same size as Angela’s palm formed.  
Angela walked towards the hole and kneeled before it. She glanced at Laura, wanting to experiment with her senses.

You walked towards the small whole and laid on your stomach in front of it. Your shame had disappeared too, so the childlike glint in your eyes went unnoticed by you. Though, the pretty doctor seemed to notice something. You stared at the hand she had slid into your space, palm up. You could see the blue veins and you could hear the blood coursing through her in a rapid pace. Because of the hole, her fear now filled your nostrils. The bitter smell was unwelcome. You slowly reached for her hand with your one clean finger. When your pinky touched hers, you could feel the buzzing in her again. The hunger roared, but something pulled you back. Not physically, but something in your mind screamed at you to fucking get over yourself and be a woman, not a monstrous beast. And you listened, desperately so. The voice of reason was finally ringing in your ears. You laid your head on the floor, pinky hooked around the doctor, inhuman purrs leaving your body quietly. 

All the occupants of the room could think was: 

“Well, damn.”

“This is mildly disturbing, but lemme get my camera.”

“I really need to rethink my morals.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I'm going a bit too deep… oh well ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	5. ah, a classic: shitty familial bonds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to keep things neutral, nothing too graphic. In this alternative, she has a strongly modified virus/parasite logged into her brain – particularly in her limbic system (I'm using that a lot) – that has shut off her emotions and some of her memories. The virus/parasite got there through her bloodstream and on the way up ate up her sugars and fed her triglyceride to keep her alive. Now, I'm focusing on her mental problems and past, rather than her physical condition.
> 
> I decided to go with this one, as the outcome for the mutilated tongue would've been to uh, amputate it. Yea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> by the way, I am in no way an expert in any sort of medical field, but I am very much interested in a variety of them, so the things happening here may not even be possible as I am but an aspiring doctor

Since Laura had passed out – with the help of a sleeping anaesthetic – Genji and McCree moved her to a new room, this time onto a real bed. And let the test’s begin.

Angela took your blood and was about inserted the vial to a machine, but she saw the blood bubbling violently, looking like it was boiling, and climbing up the tube with almost aggressive vigor. What. The Hell. Pressing the cork of the vial further down, she put it in the machine with wary hands. Those machines were very, very expensive. She slowly turned away, eyeing the process over her shoulder. Angela didn’t like that you killed all those people, she really didn’t like that, but she had seen your hunger and it didn’t seem like you could control it. She hated that you couldn’t feel. It was strange to her, because now she had a hard time thinking of you as human. Obviously, you were human on physical level, but you seemed like a wild animal, only purpose to survive and nothing more.  
You were a lost soul, lost too deep and drowning in nothing. She had herself been drowning, she’d felt anger, grief, guilt and numb. She hated being numb. Numbness was the worst of them all, you couldn’t calm down from being numb, it just went on and on, you couldn’t wake up and feel okay, you couldn’t think back to it and laugh, because you literally couldn’t feel anything in those moments. No matter who or what you surround yourself with, you’d miss it all.  
She knew her pain was different from yours, but she could understand that you needed help. Serious help.

Shaking off the dark thoughts, she attached a strange metal harness to your forehead. It was held up at the sides of your head and neck and attached to your throat. The part that circled your head in a shape of a square had small clips attached to them. She attached the clips to your lower and upper lip, pulling your jaws apart, revealing your bleeding gums. God, she was glad you couldn’t feel the pain, your mouth was burning constantly due to the spit.  
With your mouth wide open and purrs rumbling through your body, Angela’s mind evoked some strange, frisky thoughts. This was a serial killer for fuck’s sake, not a toy… A toy… NO! Angela you are a professional, stop such incidence. As the kink queen was pulling her latex gloves, your squirmed in the harness, feeling it squeeze down your throat. Not an entirely unpleasant feeling, but not too pleasurable, either.

Angela grabbed your jaw gently and pressed her dominant hand’s two fingers onto your tongue. The results of the blood test beeped.

“Athena, would you please tell me the results of the blood test?” She asked half heartedly, focused on inspecting your bloodied, glistening tongue.

“The temperature of the blood is abnormally high, it is type O+, but has some unusual fibers pumping from her heart. Blood sugar is almost nonexistent, but the triglyceride is, at least, doubled in her bloodstream. She also has extra amounts of adrenaline running through her constantly.” Well, that explained why it’s hard for you to feel pain, adrenaline clouded your senses so much so, that when it paused – back in the dentist chair – it caused an extreme reaction. You survived by drinking others’ blood, thus stealing their sugar and storing energy from them. The more you consumed, the longer you’d go without it.

Angela pulled on Laura’s tongue and inspected her pharynx. Everything was normal, aside from her mouth and throat burning. The adrenaline luckily dulled the pain she must feel, considering how her spit almost burned through her cheeks. Why was her tongue so long? Angela lifted the muscle and examined the underside of it. Hmm… This was way simpler that she thought, Laura’s lingual frenum was ripped. Laura’s tongue wasn’t really that long, it just could move further from her mouth with less restrictions. 

Angela went back to inspecting her other body parts. Her muscles were in minimalistic shape, depressingly weak and small, but as Angela practically felt Laura up, she felt some strange patterns on her arms. So she lifted her sleeve up. Angela tried to muffle her cry of surprise and partial horror, the sight got her breathless. Laura’s skin had no clear spots. Every single patch of it was covered in scars, thin, self inflicted scars. Angela lifted her pant legs, and cut the torn shirt from her body.  
Laura had scars coating her like tendons of muscles, from her wrists to to her shoulders, from her ankles to her belly button. If it weren’t so horrifying, then maybe there would be a purpose, but it was hard seeing past the way-too-deep-to-not-be-treated, red streaks. 

“Athena, do you have access to her medical history?” She asked quietly, hand heavy on her chest.

“Yes, I have access to her medical history, I also have her therapist’s notes. Would you like them both printed out?” Angela replied with a curt nod as she got antibacterial spray along with other medical equipment for treating Laura’s cuts. She was dazedly walking around, still shooketh from it all.

“Please read the aloud, Athena.” She spoke as she sprayed the liquid on the angry shaded scars, goosebumps raining down her spine.

“She was born in a homeless shelter, her mother didn’t make it and she was given to adoption. When she was two she broke her leg, a week later she sprained her wrist, during the same week she accidentally ripped her stitches. Next visit was when she was four with extreme bruising and cuts on her face, she claimed that a dog attacked her, but there was visible marks of choking on her neck. Laura was adopted and moved out of the states to Scotland. Her visits to the hospital ceased, but on her 7th birthday, she came to the hospital with a cake and a limp. She had sprained her ankle when she “fell down the stairs” but there was handprints on her leg. When she was asked why she brought a cake, she told the staff that her father wouldn’t help her blow the candles, so she thought that they’d help her. She left with the biggest smile.” 

Angela smiled at that.

“When she was 8 she visited again, this time in hopes of company. She had some small cuts on her feet, since she had walked there bare foot. “Dad forgot to unlock the shoe cabinet.” Was her excuse. Within the same month, she came in with a set of crayons and a coloring book – again, barefoot – and asked one of the nurses to color with her. When asked why, she asked them “Don’t friends visit each other?”. She became a regular at the hospital, visiting every Saturday, each day with a new ray of cuts.” Angela studied Laura’s face, how could such an innocent child become this. A mess of emotions and blank pages, jumbled together in the mesh pit of a brain.

“One day she was asked why she always came barefoot. She responded swiftly and simply. “I do them myself, otherwise Cassie wouldn’t have anything to do! Do you wanna color Cassie?” She had asked brightly, like it was no big deal.” Angela halted. A seven year old kid cutting herself? That sounded so wrong, she wanted to cry.

“Her parents were informed and she was assigned therapy every Sunday.” Athena paused. “She went to therapy for ten years, here are highlights of her therapist’s notes;

This is her 5th session, but I’ve failed to get anything from her. All I know, is that she doesn’t have any friends outside of the hospital, she doesn’t go to school and her parents are never home. Peter Carter is one of the hospitals biggest sponsors, so reporting them wouldn’t do any good.”

Angela’s lip curled in disgust. Money over lives, huh?

“It has been a year since her first session, she doesn’t cut anymore, but the reason doesn’t quite satisfy me. She claims she doesn’t do it, because her friends don’t want her to and disregards her own health. She is too selfless for her own good. I have failed to do any real progress, but she seems very un-self aware and out of it. Every session she has at least one bandage. She calls them badanges, because it’s bad – oh, really?? – I have to ask more about that.”

Laura’s body twitched when Angela’s hand came in contact with her flat stomach. Her skin was sensitive and scarred, so rubbing it with rough towels wasn’t exactly the best idea, Angela concluded. She stood up to find something softer.

“Today is her 16th birthday. She has depression. I’m sure of it. I know for a fact that her father abuses her, at least, verbally and her mother is never there, but Laura knows she’s watching. When, Laura was younger, her father was more physical, but now he’s settled for nasty words. I have to report him. But, I’ll lose my job, he could easily win court and I have no evidence. She’s on antidepressants and other complicated pills, but nothing of it seems to be working. Her condition is a tricky one, it seems she just feels bad, but she doesn’t know why. She stays away from her father, she practically lives in the hospital and she doesn’t feel anything for her mother. She tells me that it doesn’t bother her that she doesn’t go to school or have any friends her age. I can see that it really doesn’t, but I feel like she’s tuned out something valuable for her humanity.”

Oh, so this isn’t all that new, now is it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've kinda fallen from the overwatch fandom, so this might take another year for me to really get back into it, but now that I've started and reread everything, will to continue has arisen :)

**Author's Note:**

> I won't promise consistency, but it's better than nothing ey?


End file.
